


Monsters Together

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Ward, Daisy Is The Only Marvel Superhero, Disturbing Themes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, For the last time, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, NOT KARAWARD FRIENDLY, NOT SKYEWARD FRIENDLY, Non-Graphic Violence, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Grant Ward, POV Phil Coulson, POV Skye | Daisy Johnson, Romance, Self-Hatred, Skye | Daisy Johnson's Superpowers, Skye | Daisy Johnson-centric, Ward becomes Hellfire, and seriously don't come to complain about Ward here, complicated not-quite-love triangles, consider yourself warned, do not read if you think Ward is a good guy, if you don't think he's a villain don't read this, if you think Skyeward is an okay pairing don't read, mention of rape, not Grant Ward friendly, references to Ward/Kara but not positive, references to Ward/Skye but not positive, sorry about Ward's disturbing inner monologue, that is Villain Ward, this fic is about Daisy and Ward as dark antagonistic mirrors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 08:49:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5328062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Grant Ward knows that the universe works in threes. And Coulson had always been between him and Skye. Or it was Skye who came between him and Coulson.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monsters Together

This is the story of three monsters.

 

+

 

Grant Ward knows that the universe works in _threes_. And Coulson had always been between him and Skye. Or it was Skye who came between him and Coulson.

_Both_.

Coulson had been his mission and she had messed everything up.

Coulson had been a lot more than a mission –he still is, Ward thinks, staring down at the pathetic, broken body of a powerless man who used to give him orders, a joke of a man– and Ward had never been able to escape the complexity of it: Coulson was weak, just like Garrett said, but Ward has always been attracted to that weakness. Even when he realized how Coulson's weakness had begun to poison Skye. The man should have chosen Ward, not her. Ward was supposed to be the prodigal, the troubled subordinate Coulson had to take under his wing because he saw the goodness in him, the potential. That was the plan. But Skye had messed it all.

Usurper.

Skye had taken Ward's rightful place.

Even when he felt what he felt for the girl – and that sounds like a joke now, now that he knows better, now that he has experienced the real thing – Ward never stopped resenting her for that.

Still he liked Coulson. When he called and told Garrett about that cellist girlfriend of his (and what a laugh him and John had when Ward told him about the conversation, Coulson seeing women as puzzles, Coulson as outdated and lame as his old car) a part of him wasn't in it. The heart part. That was always the problem. The heart part wanted Coulson, and not just as a mission. Skye stole him, but that was okay, because the way he had wanted Skye by then was more pressing and sharp and later he'd have no problem in shooting the boss in the head if that's what it took to stop him from taking Skye from him.

Kind of ironic, that.

Skye stole Coulson from him. Coulson stole Skye.

Ward has never forgotten, and he hasn't forgiven either of them.

For a moment he had loved the man.

Just another weakness.

Now, Phil Coulson was just another thing that must go up in flames for Ward to keep going.

He's trying.

With the flames, that is.

He looks up at Skye, always the other point of the equidistant geometry of their relationship, and marvels at his own strength. Borrowed, sure. Paid for, too. But Ward has always paid for everything he got, this is no different. Real power for the first time. Not an attitude, like Garrett thought it was. Not Skye's power over him, reminding him of how wonderful selfishness could be. No. Real power. Power you can touch.

Except _no_.

It will burn you.

It will burn anyone but Ward.

Finally, something truly _his_.

"This is what it feels like for you, this power?" he asks Skye. Though he knows the answer. Skye is too weak, incapable of revelling in this kind of power. She's probably under some illusion that she can help people with it. That she shouldn't like it for the sake of it. Always with the same lie. Believing she's good. Believing she's _better than him_ , when she's the real monster.

"Ward, listen to me," she says, putting her body between him and Coulson. Always meddling. And that voice. How could he ever thought that sanctimonious tone was endearing? She's trying to fix things, still trying. 

"Are you going to appeal to my humanity? Because I've got more of that than you," he reminds her. God it feels so good to finally feel superior to her, to know how much better he is and not hold back.

"You don't need him," she says. She wants him to let Coulson go. Of course. But Coulson is always here, part of their relationship. Can't she see that? He can't leave. It's always him and Skye and Coulson. The universe works in threes. "You've got me."

She thinks she's going to trick him into giving Coulson up with that. Ward clicks his tongue – he's pretty sure he taught her better than this.

"Why would I want _you_?" he tells her. She needs to know that she is _rejected_. Just like she had done with him. "I had someone better, I had someone perfect."

It was all Skye's fault, in a way. If she had been capable of loving him like Kara was capable of loving him. Skye had put the seed of desire in him and then she had broken him. And refused to pay for what she's done. It was Skye's responsibility, _he_ was Skye's responsibility. That's why everything had happened. But Skye isn't Kara. Skye is a monster, he should have known from the beginning. She's rotten and soulless and dangerous and deserves everything that's going to happen to her.

 

+

 

She is her mother's curse.

She is her father's tragedy.

She is Grant Ward's dark twin, or he is hers, she is not sure right now.

A mirror, maybe.

Why does this monster look so much like her?

His powers.

She can get away from his grip whenever she wants to but she becomes fascinated by the dark rings the chain is leaving on her arm when he shows her. Grant Ward fully-equipped with superpowers. Only Hydra can make that particular mistake. She feels sick thinking about it. Grant Ward with endless potential for destruction. He was bad enough with a gun in his hand.

She pulls away easily, _her powers_ shielding her from any real harm from Ward's fire.

She's frightened of him for a moment, and this is new, but she remembers he's not the reason why she came into this room.

_Coulson_.

On the floor, sitting up only by virtue of being tied to one of the pipes. Daisy hurries to his side, kneels in front of him, and sees his _face_.

"What did you do to him?" she mutters, not needing Ward to answer.

The injuries are evident.

Grant Ward with powers.

Of course this is the result.

Of course Coulson is the one to pay the price. Daisy has never forgotten how she found him in the middle of the desert and how he begged to be killed. She has never forgotten that Ward had a lot to do with that.

Daisy tries to touch Coulson's body, figuring out the extent of the damage, but Coulson winces and shrinks away from her, half-conscious, scared out of his wits. "It's me," she says, loud enough for Coulson to hear, soft enough she hopes Ward doesn't catch the tone. Slowly, she tries again, covering his heart with her hand. Coulson's heartbeat races and then relaxes under her fingertips, and this time he doesn't pull away. He recognizes her through his limited vision (please, please, Daisy prays, don't let him lose the eye).

"You know, this is quite different from using actual fire," Ward is saying, clinical, proud. "The pain is much more excruciating."

"Stop. Talking."

"Oh, don't worry, he's okay," he tells her. "I was careful not to kill him before you arrived. These powers are very – specific."

Ward says it in an _awed_ tone and Daisy tastes something bitter crawling up her throat.

Focus on Coulson, she tells herself. He's alive and that should be enough.

It will scar. It will scar badly, but as long as he can still breathe Daisy can hold on.

"You took his hand," she says, touching her fingers against the stump of Coulson's left arm. She's never seen him looking this helpless. More than the burns on his face and body, this is what shocks her the most. She wants to cry. Ward or whoever was helping him dislodged the prosthetic and left Coulson like this.

"You always go to him like this, choosing him," Ward tells her. She looks at him over her shoulder. She has no idea what his delusional mind might be hinting at with that. "Always chasing after good old Phil. I never understood why. And now – well, look at that, he's not even a _whole_ man."

No one ever accused Grant Ward of being subtle.

Daisy makes her fingers into a fist, holds back a natural disaster only by miracle.

She knows Ward plans to kill her, eventually.

He will _try_ , anyway.

Getting Coulson out of here is the priority. Has always been. Ward knows she's stalling, that the real plan is going on somewhere else. He stands between her and Coulson and the door. He has always been standing between her and Coulson. Ward has always been here, with them, from the beginning. Daisy met the two men in the same heartbeat. They are inexorably linked, the three of them. But Coulson is not like them. Daisy looks down at the man in her arms. He's good and pure and now he was made to burn because of her.

(She is a curse.

She is a tragedy.)

She examines the extent of the injuries again. They are so precise, so utterly cruel.

"Why?" she asks through gritted teeth, lifting her face to Ward.

He shrugs, turning his hand to look at his fingers close over his palm, gripping the chain. "I needed to know how strong I was," he says. "Discovery requires experimentation." 

Something ugly gets stuck in Daisy's mouth. She always knew she could kill Ward. She never knew if she was really going to. Until now.

Ward takes a step towards her. "Skye."

"The name's Daisy."

"You will always be _Skye_ to me."

He has tainted that name forever. Like so many other things. Board games. The sound of a pistol when you release the safety. Ruthie's. Her name. Trust. So many things.

Ward's arm reaching out, not for her, but to hurt Coulson again.

She lifts her arm in time and in the next moment Ward is on the other side of the room, flung against the wall, and _laughing_. Daisy has never enjoyed using her powers this way, directly on people's bodies, but if there ever was a time when she could enjoy it... She bites that feeling back, rejects it. She's not a monster, she repeats. Not like Ward. She panicked. She could have killed him. Would that have been that bad? Everything would be over.

Ward recovers quickly, leaning back against the wall to stand up, still laughing.

"I like that," he says, wiping the blood from his mouth. She should have pushed him harder, knock him out at least. "Now it's a fair fight. Good. It's no fun otherwise."

"I thought you liked it when women _couldn't_ fight back," Daisy says. "Agent Palamas?"

" _You_ don't get to say that name."

Daisy knows he means it – he could kill her just for that – and she feels an uneasy vertigo realizing that.

Kara Palamas had been manipulated, raped and murdered and Daisy was sure that in Ward's mind he is not responsible for any of that. He probably thinks of her as the woman who loved him. Daisy spent some time reading her file, once she discovered what had happened when Bobbi was kidnapped and came back with lead in her lungs. Agent 33's file – the latest in a long list of victims. Not just Ward's victims. _Her victims_. Going back to that moment in the Bus' hangar, with Ward writhing on the metal floor, his heart stopped, his life completely in Daisy's hands. She had thought it was only his life she held. It was so many's. Every one of those lives snuffed by Daisy's decision. Kara Palamas had talent, potential. Daisy had destroyed all that.

She has spent hours in secret, studying the faces of every person Ward has ever killed since she let him live. Unfortunate FBI agents who had him in his custody. She has searched for the identity of every passenger in that plane.

(Curse.

Tragedy.)

She draws her hand over Coulson's wrist, disassembling the handcuffs in a moment. He is about to fall to one side but Daist props him up.

"Can you hold on to me?" she asks.

Coulson moves his head in a nod and his arm starts sliding over Daisy's shoulders, weakly, but that seems to be enough. She stands up, dragging Coulson with her. He lets out a painful whimper when his wounds touch Daisy's shoulder. She has to get him out of here _quickly_.

Nothing is going to stop her.

There is something hard in Ward's eyes as he approaches her again. Something that didn't use to be there, even when he was specifically hurting her. He must have meant it when he said he didn't want her anymore – it's a relief and a scary thought at the same time.

"I know I'm a monster," he says. "But I was made one. You were born a monster."

She wants to find a witty comeback. She wants to mock Ward, humilliate him, squash him like the little insect he is.

But she knows he's right.

"Daisy..."

Coulson's voice is weak against her neck.

That's who she is. Daisy Johnson. Coulson's Daisy. Not Ward's _Skye_.

Ward is still standing between them and the door, his stance ready for an attack.

Daisy curls her fingers around Coulson's hip, grips him tighter and tells him everything will be okay, she's taking him home now.

She is her mother's curse.

She is her father's tragedy.

She is a monster, with power enough to crush a monster like Grant Ward.

So she does.

 

+

 

It's late and he has been looking for her for hours – it feels like he has been looking for her for a couple of days now, ever since everything ended – and he finally finds her in her quarters, shoving a pair of jeans into a bag, another suitcase on the floor by her side.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Packing my things," she replies, flatly, without looking at him.

"Daisy, what...?"

Whatever was his question it gets felled by her expression when she turns around and faces him. She's not crying, but she looks as distressed as Coulson has ever seen her.

"What are you talking about?" has asks, like it's not obvious, pushing the words out with difficulty, his worst nightmare – one of them, anyway – happening in front of him.

He watches her drop one of her tops on the bag again, leaving the whole thing on the floor for a moment.

"I can't stay," she says. "You know I can't."

She sounds desperate for a rebuttal and god he wants to give her that.

Coulson steps closer. His injuries still hurt when he moves, the fabric of his clothes painful against his skin, but they have mostly healed, and at a miraculous speed too (like always, and Coulson knows what he has to thank for that, and has never been comfortable with the idea). His right eye is still messed up, he's still recovering the hearing in the ear as well, and his whole balance is off because of it – he tries to move slowly and smoothly, like liquid. The doctors said it was just temporary and he just had to be patient. He's not good at that. And now Daisy says she can't stay here.

"No, I don't know that."

"You were there," Daisy says wearily, now wanting some kind of dark understanding Coulson can't offer (he's not Grant Ward, he could never be Grant Ward).

"You had no choice," Coulson tells her. "It was him or us..."

And while he gets why Daisy, of all people, tender and brave Daisy, would think like this, Coulson thinks it's fucking unfair that the death of someone like Ward should weight heavily on the conscience of someone like her. It's monstruous. Will Ward always be here with them? Daisy deserves better than to be haunted by the likes of him.

"You had to," he adds. "How many more people would have died had he escaped again? Every time we let him..."

She nods. "I know. I had to." Her eyes harden. "But Ward was right about me. He always was."

"No..."

"We were always connected, like some twisted siblings. I'm as much of a monster as he was."

Coulson reaches out for her, grabbing her shoulders gently. His backup prosthetic feels clumsier, stiffer, and he can't quite touch her with it like he wants. He wishes he had the replacement already. Plastic and metal alloys are no good for comfort.

"Please don't say that," he shakes his head. "You're a hero. You're not –"

He can't bring himself to say the word _monster_ in connection to her, not even to deny it. It's an absurd notion. If Daisy is a monster, what does that make the rest of them? What does that make him?

"I get people killed," she says, wrapping her hand around Coulson's wrist and pulling him off her.  
"Lincoln was right. If all around me there's destruction and I'm the only one who's intact... that should tell you something."

There's cruel humor in her tone now, the self-deprecation sounds more like Daisy, but Coulson can see the pain under the words, the gaping wound at the center. He wishes he was a better man and could make it stop. He will still hold out his inadequate hands and try to stop the bleeding.

"Many people would be dead if it wasn't for you, if you hadn't taken him down..." he tries. "Every one is okay because of you."

"Not everyone is okay..." she breathes softly, touching her fingertips to the scars on the side of his face. They both know they are permanent. Coulson doesn't mind. He knows Daisy probably does. He catches her fingers and presses them against the burnt skin, still too sensitive. Every time she sees the scars from now on... will she feel like she's cursed? Will she not want to look at him ever again? That's reason enough to let her go. If she is going to be in less pain away from here. Away from him.

Grant Ward's ultimate victory.

He doesn't even have to be alive to defeat them.

_No._

He grabs Daisy's wrist as she tries to withdraw her hand from his face.

"I need you," Coulson tells her.

He's never been this direct with her. It's always been professional compliments and roundabout car metaphors he regrets now. She deserves direct. She deserves the truth.

"How can you say that?" she asks and looks annoyed at him. Annoyed means energy and that's better than defeated. Yes, Coulson prefers annoyed. "After everything that has happened to you."

"You _saved me_ ," he insists. "And I'm not just talking about my life. You have saved my soul a thousand times."

"You don't understand," Daisy repeats. 

"I know there are a lot of things I can't understand about how you feel," he says in a pained voice. He doesn't want Daisy to know how useless he has felt in all this, in trying to help her, since she transformed. "But I do know a bit about feeling like a – a monster. Because there is something in my blood that made me do things I would have never... it made me _hurt you_. And every day I wake up wondering if that's the day when it will come back and take hold of me again."

"And that's my fault, too," she replies with precision. She's obviously been thinking about this. "The blood inside you... it's from the people who made me a monster, even before I was born. It's still part of my curse. And I'm so sorry, Coulson. I'm so sorry you have to suffer because of me."

"Suffer? _No_. Daisy..."

He watches her trying to swallow down tears. Tender and brave. He moves his hand to her hair, caressing the side of her head. Daisy presses herself against the gesture, looking like she can't help it, looking too tired to fight the offer of solace.

"Do you think I'm a good person?" Coulson asks her.

"You're the best person I've ever met," she breathes out, tear-eyed.

"And you are the love of my life," he tells her finally. " _That_ should tell you something."

She frowns, lips parting in confusion.

She lets out a little hopeless moan when they kiss, but Coulson is not sure who started it. Her left hand is careful when she curls it on his shoulder, but her right hand grips his shirt tightly, her whole body in a new form of tension now. She kisses back, pushing her tongue desperatedly against Coulson's as his hands who to her hips and try to still them both.

She backs them against her bed, lying down first, waiting for his next kiss. He can see it in her eyes, her effort to believe his words, to believe she's more than a dangerous weapon, that she could be _this_ too.

He sits on the bed, trying not to lose balance and end up on the floor. Daisy pulls him towards her, sliding her mouth hastily over his, guiding his hand between her legs, desperate for speed. Coulson strokes her a couple of times through the fabric of her jeans, watching her body curl around his touch.

"I need you," she says, and it's not quite an echo of what he said to her.

She doesn't need him, not really. But she needs him _now_.

Daisy lets out a gasp of protest when he takes his hand away and starts tugging at her top, pulling it over her head. She kicks her jeans and underwear off on her own, quickly, letting him unclasp her bra, and in a moment she's naked in front of him, taking his hand and pressing them against her bare skin. She feels hot and shaking. His hand covers the nape of her neck and draws her to him, kissing her until she stops trembling. The parts of her that _can_ stop trembling, at least. She buries her head into his arm for a moment, regrouping, breathing a couple of long breaths.

"You want to stop?" he asks. His voice sounds so soft – specially compared to the raspy, throaty efforts of the last couple of days – that for a moment it's unrecognizable to him.

Daisy shakes her head against his chest.

"Okay," he says and starts undoing the buckle of his belt. Her hands drop to help him, slipping under the waistband of his boxers. She lets out a relieved sigh when she wraps her fingers around his erection, like she was scared he wouldn't be hard, wouldn't want her like this.

Coulson kisses the curve of her shoulder with care, wishing he could tell her how much he wants her, how aroused he is. But this is not about that. It's about Daisy feeling like she's a monster. Maybe later he can talk to her about love again. Not now.

She undoes his shirt and slips it off his shoulders, wrapping a cold, comforting hand over the bruises on his throat (Grant Ward's body still between them like a ghost) while Coulson traces the outline of her beautiful hips in the ugly light of her bedside lamp. He years for sunlight to see her properly.

He has to leave his long-sleeved undershirt on for stupid medical reasons and he hates it, he wants Daisy to see him, all of him, all of his scars. Maybe he'll get more chances. It doesn't matter if he doesn't, she's here with him now. Daisy doesn't seem scared to touch him, to hurt him. She draws her hand over his chest, and even through his clothes she feels for the hardened skin right over his heart. The original scar, before he met her – and yet linked to her. All his scars are because of her, one way or another. They're a path to Daisy.

His body cover hers now, his mouth crashing against hers, pushing all his weight onto her. He wants her to feel him solid, to know that he means to be here with her. She's so used to being an anchor, Coulson wants to try to do that for her. He is alive because of her, she should know that all of him is hers now. 

"Do you want to...?" he offers, slipping his hand under her back, thinking she might prefer to be on top – after everything that's happened, after how she feels about her own identity, she might want more control.

"No, no," she replies, forceful. "Just... hold me."

He fears she means _hold me down_ and he's not sure he can do that, but he slips his fingers across her wrists and presses her hands against the matress, above her head. Daisy doesn't fight his grip, she just sighs contentedly at it. 

He's too old for all the passion he feels for this woman, he knows this. He heard what Ward said – how he wasn't a whole man. That might be true, but Coulson doesn't mind, being something less than a man, if the chunks that still remain can hold Daisy in his arms like this, can at least try. He kisses her for a long time before his cock starts throbbing too painfully against her hip. Daisy nods and brings her hand between them to guide him. Ordinary logistics enter his mind for a moment.

"Are we? Can we...?"

"We're safe," she says. "Please..." she pants, words coming out with difficulty. "I want you to – please – _inside_..."

Coulson kisses her when he pushes into her body, swallowing her surprised moan at the sensation. He's shocked too. It feels different to anything before, and it _should_. He starts moving over her, pushing the ghost in between out of the way. Daisy relaxes, like it's not longer an effort to believe Coulson's words.

Her legs wrapped tight around his waist, she leaves no room but for him to try to get deeper. Her hand slide down his body to hold him close, her palm pressed to the curve of his ass, fingertips against the sweat pooling on the small of his back as he thrusts into her. He is too old and too wounded to be of any use like this, her body is just _too much_ , he wants to help but... He's selfish, rushes to her with his arms full of love and he should have known better, how he needs her more than she needs him, even when she does need him after all.

"I'm sorry," he tells her in shame, too lost in her, dropping kisses on her head, begging for forgiveness and a second chance. "I'm going to..."

She wraps her hand around his wrist, the prosthetic hand's, and brings it against her body, between her body and Coulson's. He doesn't ask her why this hand. He keeps it still against her while she rolls her hips into it, bringing herself off while he's still sliding in and out. If she's a monster and he's not whole – why does this they're doing feel so good and precious and complete? Daisy comes against Coulson's incompleteness, and he comes inside her monstruous body and he was wrong before, it's about love.

 

+

 

_I am my mother's curse._

_I am my father's tragedy._

She gets out of bed with the mantra in her head.

She's been hearing it for two straight days, buzzing in her head like the worst kind of earworm, ever since she walked into that room looking for Coulson, all through the aftermath and the hospital vigil and everything after.

(The mantra stopped, for a moment, while Coulson made love to her, not exactly like a respite but more like the mantra bracketed his kisses and caresses)

(Sometimes the mantra sounds like Grant Ward's voice)

(Mostly it's just her own)

It's okay, she can stand it now. She knows better than to believe it now. It can be background noise. She gets out of bed and in the darkness she finds the half-made suitcase and her bag. She pulls them up to the chair and in the dark she opens her closet and starts putting her things back into it. Back where they belong, here at home. Her eyes adjust to the lack of light and she doesn't really need to see what she's doing. She even puts her shirts on the hangers.

Soft snoring fills the air around her, deafening the usual litany for a moment, louder in a funny way, and Daisy looks over her shoulder.

Coulson's body looks big and incongrous inside her small bed. He moves in his sleep and the sheets part like water around him, revealing the shape of a hipbone in the dark. Daisy smiles to herself. The simplicity of desire overwhelming anything else for a second.

Daisy continues the task, more decided now. Her wrinkled old jeans go back to the bottom drawer. Her underwear, the green jacket – she can't quite see the green now but she knows it's that one, sometimes you just know.

_I am my mother's curse._

_I am–_

"Skye..." he calls, not seeing a thing in the dark, and still in a dream, using the wrong name in a voice that means Daisy can take it back from _him_. Coulson returns the name to her, like so many other things. It's almost unfair, how easily he does it too.

"Daisy," he amends, waking up, propping himself on one elbow. "What are you doing?"

"I'm putting my stuff back into the closet. Unpacking."

He blinks slowly, taking a moment to understand what she means.

"Good, that's good," he says, in a relieved voice. "But... come back to bed?"

He extends his arm, offers himself up so easily.

She closes the cupboard and does as he asks, climbing into the bed without a sound, recovering the sheets and covers for both of them. Coulson's fingers search for her and they find her hand. She touches his wrist in the dark. No burn marks there, Daisy can feel only the fading trace of bruises and scratches from handcuffs under her fingers. She can feel him smiling every time she touches him. She can't wait until she can see him properly, all of him in daylight. His arm wraps around her waist gently and nudges Daisy against his body. She gives up her knotted muscles, paralized by the same two sentences over and over, and she relaxes into Coulson's embrace.

"That's better," he whispers to no one in particular when Daisy settles next to him and his chin touches the crown of her head. He longs to go back to sleep, but not without her.

Not without her, Daisy remembering his words about needing her.

How she couldn't leave after that.

She lifts her head and tries to make out his sleeping frame in the dark. He looks relaxed and happier than she has ever seen him. For a moment that doesn't make sense.

Then – 

_I am my mother's curse._

_I am my father's tragedy._

_..._

_I am the love of Phil Coulson's life._

And maybe that's not enough to erase the other two, and maybe it shouldn't.

But it's enough to make her stay.

It's enough to make her go back to bed and press her body against the crook of Coulson's elbow and rest her hand over the shape of the scar on his heart and whisper "You saved me, too" and it doesn't matter if he hears it or not.

It's enough to let her sleep for now.

 

+

 

The universe works in threes.

Curse. Tragedy.

It's about the third one.


End file.
